I ran into a former teacher of mine last week. I haven't seen her in over ten years. We got to talking, she and I. As always, I hid behind my mask. My mask of being the Bais Yaakov girl she thinks I am.
She mentioned how she remembers my davening. I remember it, too. And it made me so angry.
She SAW! She SAW the pain I was in, all those years ago. She SAW how I cried.
I remember her asking once, what was wrong. I didn't answer her. And she accepted my silence. She didn't probe. She didn't tell me that no matter what, I can come to her.
She chose to take the easy way out. She chose to assume...what? I don't know what she assumed. Maybe she thought I had a sick relative?
She watched me daven, and cry. Five days a week, for an entire school year. And then I moved on, to another grade, another teacher. I wasn't her problem anymore.
And I continued crying. Silently.